That sometime they have put themselves in danger To take bread at my hand; and now they range Busily seeking in continual change.
Thanked be Fortune, it hath been otherwise Twenty times better; but once especial,
In thin array, after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown did from her shoulders fall,
And she me caught in her arms long and small,
And therewithal so sweetly did me kiss,
And softly said, 'Dear heart, how like you this?'
It was no dream; for I lay broad awaking:
But all is turn'd now, through my gentleness,
Into a bitter fashion of forsaking;
And I have leave to go of her goodness;
And she also to use new fangleness.
But since that I unkindly so am served:
How like you this, what hath she now deserved?
THE LOVER TO HIS BED, WITH DESCRIBING OF HIS UNQUIET STATE.
THE restful place, renewer of my smart, The labours' salve, increasing my sorrow, The body's ease, and troubler of my heart, Quieter of mind, mine unquiet foe, Forgetter of pain, rememberer of my woe, The place of sleep, wherein I do but wake, Besprent with tears, my bed, I thee forsake.
The frosty snows may not redress my heat,
Nor heat of sun abate my fervent cold,
I know nothing to ease my pains so great;
Each cure causeth increase by twenty fold,
Renewing cares upon my sorrows old,
Such overthwart effects in me they make:
Besprent with tears, my bed for to forsake.
But all for nought, I find no better ease
In bed or out: this most causeth my pain,
Where I do seek how best that I may please;
My lost labour, alas, is all in vain:
My heart once set, I cannot it refrain;
No place from me my grief away can take;
Wherefore with tears, my bed, I thee forsake.
THE LOVER COMPLAINETH THAT HIS LOVE DOTH NOT PITY HIM.
RESOUND my voice, ye woods, that hear me
Both hills and vales causing reflexion;
And rivers eke, record ye of my pain,
Which have oft forced ye by compassion,
As judges, lo, to hear my exclamation:
Among whom ruth, I find, yet doth remain;
Where I it seek, alas, there is disdain.
Oft, ye rivers, to hear my woful sound Have stopt your course: and plainly to express Many a tear by moisture of the ground,
The earth hath wept to hear my heaviness:
Which causeless I endure without redress.
The hugy oaks have roared in the wind:
Each thing, methought, complaining in their kind
Why then, alas, doth not she on me rue?
Or is her heart so hard that no pity
May in it sink, my joy for to renew?
O stony heart, who hath thus framed thee
So cruel; that art cloaked with beauty;
That from thee may no grace to me proceed,
But as reward, death for to be my meed?
THE LOVER COMPLAINETH HIMSELF
FORSAKEN.
WHERE shall I have at mine own will,
Tears to complain? where shall I fet
Such sighs, that I may sigh my fill,
And then again my plaints repeat?
For, though my plaint shall have none end,
My tears cannot suffice my woe:
To moan my harm have I no friend;
For fortune's friend is mishap's foe.
Comfort, God wot, else have I none,
But in the wind to waste my wordes ;
Nought moveth you my deadly moan,
But still you turn it into bordes.
I speak not now, to move your heart,
That you should rue upon my pain;
The sentence given may not revert:
I know such labour were but vain.
But since that I for you, my dear,
Have lost that thing, that was my best;
A right small loss it must appear
To lose these words, and all the rest.
But though they sparkle in the wind,
Yet shall they shew your falsed faith;
Which is returned to his kind;
For like to like, the proverb saith.
Fortune and you did me avance;
Methought I swam, and could not drown:
Happiest of all; but my mischance
Did lift me up, to throw me down.
And you with her, of cruelness
Did set your foot upon my neck,
Me, and my welfare, to oppress;
Without offence your heart to wreck.
Where are your pleasant words, alas?
Where is your faith? your steadfastness?
There is no more but all doth pass,
And I am left all comfortless.
But since so much it doth you grieve,
And also me my wretched life,
Have here my truth: nought shall relieve,
But death alone, my wretched strife.
Therefore farewell, my life, my death;
My gain, my loss, my salve, my sore;
Farewell also, with you my breath;
For I am gone for evermore.
A RENOUNCING OF HARDLY ESCAPED LOVE.
FAREWELL the heart of cruelty;
Though that with pain my liberty
Dear have I bought, and wofully
Finish'd my fearful tragedy.
Of force I must forsake such pleasure;
A good cause just, since I endure
Thereby my woe, which be ye sure,
Shall therewith go me to recure.
I fare as one escap'd that fleeth,
Glad he is gone, and yet still feareth
Spied to be caught, and so dreadeth
That he for nought his pain leseth.
In joyful pain, rejoice my heart,
Thus to sustain of each a part.
Let not this song from thee astart,
Welcome among my pleasant smart.
THE LOVER TAUGHT, MISTRUSTETH
ALLUREMENTS.
Ir may be good, like it who list;
But I do doubt: who can me blame?
For oft assured, yet have I mist;
And now again I fear the same.
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